dangerous smile drifted across his face. "I know you're not. I heard you guys talking. But you never said a damn thing about wrapping that fine little body of yours around me all night."
She blinked at the image of being wrapped around him all night, and tried to force it out of her head. "You heard us talking?" She quickly replayed their conversations from the day, trying to figure out what else he might have heard. "When?"
He winked at her as he stood up and began unbuttoning his faded plaid shirt. "Can't remember." He stripped off the shirt, revealing a tight, black tee shirt that showcased biceps and pecs that strained against the fabric. "But I remember admiring your butt in those jeans." He tossed the shirt on his duffel bag, and then ripped off his tee shirt.
She knew she should avert her gaze, not simply because he was trying to get her to look at him, but also because, well, she wasn't going to do anything about the fact that she was completely captivated by everything about him. She tried, she really tried not to gawk, but when he walked over to the bed and stood in front of her, there really wasn't anywhere else to look except at him.
She cleared her throat and pinned her gaze to his face, trying not to gape at his bare chest or the washboard abs, or the scar on the front of his right biceps. "What?"
He narrowed his eyes, and said nothing. It was as if he were waiting for something.
She held up her hands in a gesture of confusion. "I'm sorry, Zane, but you're kind of like a dog, staring at me like you want something and expect me to read your mind. You want a walk? A bone? What?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
Did he have a dimple? He almost had a dimple. How could a rugged cowboy biker with five o'clock shadow and layers of ranch dust have a dimple? That was just too endearing for a man like him. "I have a lot to say as a general rule. I just have no clue what it is that you're expecting me to say."
"She didn't tell you?"
"Who didn't tell me what?"
"Mira didn't tell you who I am?"
She frowned. "Aren't you Chase's brother?"
"Yeah, not that." He gestured impatiently. "The whole bull riding thing. That."
"You ride bulls?" Wow. He'd just gone from rugged to hardcore. "Is that what the scar on your arm is from?"
"I used to ride. Not anymore." He narrowed his eyes. "I was the world champion for three years in a row."
"Um…congratulations? Is that what you want from me?" Tension was vibrating fiercely through his body, making his muscles strain beneath his taut flesh, making her pretty sure that kudos wasn't what he was waiting for. "Seriously, Zane, I'll be honest, I have no clue where you're going with this, and I'm too tired to guess. I can tell you're upset, but I'm totally clueless about what's going on. So, great job on the championship. I'm impressed." She held out her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Or…should I ask to see your trophy? I don't know what you're getting at, or why you look so angry with me." She supposed she should be nervous with all his simmering hostility, but she wasn't afraid of him at all. She somehow knew he'd never hurt her. She was confused, however.
He stared more intently at her. "You don't care," he said softly. "You don't care, do you?"
She sat up straighter. "That's a little harsh, don't you think? I mean, yes, I barely know you, but I'm not callous enough not to care when someone accomplishes their dream. Seriously, what do you think I am—"
"No." He crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees. It was the exact same position that Mira had been in with her, but it was a completely different experience when Zane did it. He seemed to take over the space between them, trapping her. She didn't want to run, though. He was dangerous and irritated about something, but she wanted to stay right where she was. The same feeling of rightness filled her, that same wonderful sensation of awakening in his arms. There was simply
She blinked at the image of being wrapped around him all night, and tried to force it out of her head. "You heard us talking?" She quickly replayed their conversations from the day, trying to figure out what else he might have heard. "When?"
He winked at her as he stood up and began unbuttoning his faded plaid shirt. "Can't remember." He stripped off the shirt, revealing a tight, black tee shirt that showcased biceps and pecs that strained against the fabric. "But I remember admiring your butt in those jeans." He tossed the shirt on his duffel bag, and then ripped off his tee shirt.
She knew she should avert her gaze, not simply because he was trying to get her to look at him, but also because, well, she wasn't going to do anything about the fact that she was completely captivated by everything about him. She tried, she really tried not to gawk, but when he walked over to the bed and stood in front of her, there really wasn't anywhere else to look except at him.
She cleared her throat and pinned her gaze to his face, trying not to gape at his bare chest or the washboard abs, or the scar on the front of his right biceps. "What?"
He narrowed his eyes, and said nothing. It was as if he were waiting for something.
She held up her hands in a gesture of confusion. "I'm sorry, Zane, but you're kind of like a dog, staring at me like you want something and expect me to read your mind. You want a walk? A bone? What?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
Did he have a dimple? He almost had a dimple. How could a rugged cowboy biker with five o'clock shadow and layers of ranch dust have a dimple? That was just too endearing for a man like him. "I have a lot to say as a general rule. I just have no clue what it is that you're expecting me to say."
"She didn't tell you?"
"Who didn't tell me what?"
"Mira didn't tell you who I am?"
She frowned. "Aren't you Chase's brother?"
"Yeah, not that." He gestured impatiently. "The whole bull riding thing. That."
"You ride bulls?" Wow. He'd just gone from rugged to hardcore. "Is that what the scar on your arm is from?"
"I used to ride. Not anymore." He narrowed his eyes. "I was the world champion for three years in a row."
"Um…congratulations? Is that what you want from me?" Tension was vibrating fiercely through his body, making his muscles strain beneath his taut flesh, making her pretty sure that kudos wasn't what he was waiting for. "Seriously, Zane, I'll be honest, I have no clue where you're going with this, and I'm too tired to guess. I can tell you're upset, but I'm totally clueless about what's going on. So, great job on the championship. I'm impressed." She held out her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Or…should I ask to see your trophy? I don't know what you're getting at, or why you look so angry with me." She supposed she should be nervous with all his simmering hostility, but she wasn't afraid of him at all. She somehow knew he'd never hurt her. She was confused, however.
He stared more intently at her. "You don't care," he said softly. "You don't care, do you?"
She sat up straighter. "That's a little harsh, don't you think? I mean, yes, I barely know you, but I'm not callous enough not to care when someone accomplishes their dream. Seriously, what do you think I am—"
"No." He crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees. It was the exact same position that Mira had been in with her, but it was a completely different experience when Zane did it. He seemed to take over the space between them, trapping her. She didn't want to run, though. He was dangerous and irritated about something, but she wanted to stay right where she was. The same feeling of rightness filled her, that same wonderful sensation of awakening in his arms. There was simply
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